Witch's Confessions: Prologue
Listen to my story She brought this herself. The High Priestess had only one question in her mind. Why? How did all her dreams and hopes, her bright future, her friends, her life itself, end up like this? She asked this question to herself, despite knowing the answer. It was her fault. Her vision was gradually becoming more and more blurry, but she still had awareness of her surroundings. The battlefield was now the residence of crows and death itself. The creatures fed themselves with the bodies of the formerly honorable and unrivaled knights of Camelot. She remembered them all. Sir Gerraine, sir Arnest and sir Talnor. Sir Gwaine, Sir Percival and Sir Leon. And Sir Mordred. The adorable druid boy, and the renowned traitor. The two sides of the same coin. She wished that she could at least save him, but she knew that she was far from being able to move again. And in front of those bodies, Arthur Pendragon, the strong warrior, the proud leader, her dear brother and champion, stood on his knees, with a sword pierced through his heart. Even in death, he refused to fall. A trait he received from Uther was his stubbornness; even death itself was not enough to kneel him down. She could now she her running towards him. Guinevere Pendragon, the queen of Camelot. She hugged him like a mother hugs her own baby. No tears were running down her cheeks. She was just there for him, reassuring him that he would recover, with a smile on her face. For she could not understand that the mighty Arthur Pendragon was most likely already dead. Or perhaps she did not want to accept it. And there he is-the mighty Emrys. The man that looked older than time. Her demise, her doom, her light. He was looking at her, after glancing at the destruction she had brought upon the lands. His eyes, though, did not reveal hatred. Only sorrow and regret. This Is what she hated most about him. No matter what she did, she never managed to take that look off of her enemy’s face. Unfortunately, he was too late to stop her. “Help me Emrys. Please…” she begged the man. She was about to lose consciousness. He had to fulfill her request. “Is this what you wanted, Morgana?” A tear fell from the witch’s eye. She had promised herself she would never cry again. How wrong she was. She never stopped crying. “Please, Emrys. Put an end to me…” As the warlock pointed his palm at her, about to deliver the final blow, Morgana finally realized it. She could not fade away. There was still something she could do, even now. ‘’Listen to my story. This will be my last chance. History must not be repeated. Learn from my mistakes. This is the story of the last High Priestess of the Triple Goddess. The chronicles of Morgana Pendragon.’’ Okay, so I was convinced I'd never do fanfiction. I was wrong. The show has not delivered Morgana's story as it should have been delivered, so I will be the one to do it. I had this idea today, while waiting for the bus. The story will involve various significant events from Morgana's life, from her life with Gorlois up to the point of her defeat. Comments are welcome. Category:Written by Chris Category:Stories Category:Stories about Morgana